"This is your last chance, come out and we'll let you live." Derrik began turning in his bunk aboard the Werda. He was trapped in a nightmare that forced him to relive his worst nightmare. "No one needs to die here today..."

"No one needs to die..."

"Die..."

A pause. Derrik's breathing slowed as he relaxed. But his reprieve was short.

"That's funny." A voice that sent ripples of emotional pain through him as his tossing and turning began again. Sweat broke out over his brow. A loved one, lost to him decades ago. "Because I think that you do-"

"AAAGH!" Derrik jerked awake, his vibroblade ejecting from his gauntlet, the one piece of armor he kept on him at all times. His eyes raced as he looked around the room, searching for the imaginary threat.

"No one needs to die..."

Derrik sighed and withdrew his blade. Moving over to the fresher, he splashed cold water in his face to wake himself up. When he looked at the mirror, for a split second he swore that he saw an image of the one in his dreams instead of his own face. But then it passed, like it always did. He noticed a single drop of water running down his cheek. Somehow, he knew that it was a tear.

"Buir." he whispered. Then he began to shake as his sadness began to take the better of him. He wept._________________High General Derrik Jhett, Mando'ade
Commander of Citadel Krytocracy Special Forces

Derek leaned back in his form-fitting chair and sipped at the amber whiskey in his glass. It burned like fire going down, but once it reached his stomach it felt as if he'd swallowed an ice cube. It was an odd combination of pain and pleasure, even if the former was at a much lesser extent than the latter. In a way, he reflected in a philosophical manner, it was a representation of life. Nothing in life was surrendered without a cost. His services, for example, to these Mandalorians had not come cheap.

But, such vague philosophies were a luxury, and even if he did have those in spades, time was one he did not have. He sighed, putting down the half-empty whiskey glass as he stood. There were papers to be filed and assets to be arranged if he was going to fit in among these crude, but effective warriors. He swiped his hand across the panel next to the door to his quarters and walked through to the bridge. As he passed through the hallways, he noticed that an unusual amount of crewmen were in full armor. Of course, these were Mandalorians, but not all of them were. Some of them were recruits from the planet's original populace, since the Mandalorians had not had a large, centralized population since the Wars some four millenia ago.

He tapped a red-armored crewmember on the shoulder. The Mandalorian turned and crisply saluted. "Admiral, sir." Derek noticed with slight amusement how the Mandalorian crew members were all so strictly military, even when not on duty. Of course, he''d seen a few of them laugh or crack jokes when off-duty, but not much. He gestured at the armor. "Fancy suit. Know where I can get one?" The Mandalorian stared at him for a moment. "Come now, do I really look like I fit in here?" he asked, waving at his dark blue uniform and black boots, compared to the multi-colored parade walking past them. "Uniforms are fine, really, but only when one is on display." He pointed up at the ceiling. "Do you see any cameras?"

The crewmember finally answered. "You'd have to ask the armorer on the Citadel, sir. All of the beskar we recieve comes from him." Derek patted the soldier, or crewmember, he wasn't sure if either were the correct term, on the shoulder. "Perfect. Off I go, then." With a casual salute he strode past the warrior-there, that was more like it-to the bridge turbolift._________________Grand Admiral Derek Brand
Commander of Krytocracy Naval Forces

As he walked onto the bridge of the Sentinel, his executive officer, a gray and gold armored Mandalorian named Orade, took a single look at him, turned back to his survey of the bridge, then did a double take, all in two seconds. He snapped to attention. "Admiral on deck!" Immediately, every member in the bridge crew-all Mandalorian, Derek noticed-stopped whatever they were doing to stand and salute. He rewarded their efficiency with a chuckle and a casual return salute off of the corner of his helmet. Orade nodded to him and stepped over to offer his hand. "Admiral, sir. Captain Orade, Sentinel, commanding officer." He cocked his head, and Derek swore he was smiling. "Until recently, of course."

Derek shook his hand, wincing as the warrior nearly crushed his hand in his armored grip, despite the fact that Derek was still wearing his own armor. Orade probably didn't even know he was doing it, but if he was, it was probably a slight payback for Derek usurping his position as de facto fleet commander. He made a mental note to never think of Mandalorians as uncultured brutes again. If Orade was any example, they grasped politics quite well.

Derek chuckled as Orade released his grip. "If I've got a say in the matter, soon we'll be getting bigger and better ships, Captain." He took a look around the bridge of the Sentinel. "A nice ship. Not as imposing as the Mark II Star Destroyers or your race's Dreadnaughts of old, but an effective warship under the right circumstances."

Orade nodded, then extended a hand towards the bridge turbolift. "Would you like a tour, Admiral? It's much bigger on the inside."